For My Valentine
by Fire Bear1
Summary: CIA agent Alfred F. Jones is finally getting to see the MI6 agent he worked his first case with after months of not being able to be near him. Valentine's Day is approaching and he desperately wants a date with the amazing and experienced Arthur Kirkland. Will he be successful...?


_**Sorry for the lame, generic title. It kinda fits, though.  
**_

_**Anyways, this is set in a universe I have yet to start writing. I just had this idea for a Valentine themed story and, since it was similar to the universe here, I just decided it would happen after my original idea happened. So there may be some things that aren't spoken about in detail but I think I've covered most of it. (Or, at least, the stuff I have noted down, anyway.)**_

_**(The description may be a bit deceptive... Sorry. =/)**_

* * *

Alfred was sitting on a random bench in a random park in a random American city. Or, at least, he believed Albuquerque was a strange place for a drop-off with an MI6 agent. Wouldn't it be better to do it in New York or Boston where they didn't have to fly as far? And, if they were up to something in Mexico, wouldn't the CIA send him down there? In fact, where the hell was the contact? Alfred had been sitting there for half an hour already.

Then again, he knew the agent he was waiting for and knew just how thorough he could be. The briefcase was ready and waiting on the ground beside him but the agent was probably checking him over from a distance, making sure no-one was around and preparing to follow him. As he had been doing for the last few minutes, Alfred glanced around in case he could spot him.

He wondered what MI6 had needed that the CIA had: they hadn't told him what was in the case. The only thing that he had been informed was who was picking it up – or, rather, a description of a man the CIA had several names for, none of them correct. Alfred knew, though: he wouldn't betray his trust, of course, and had given him the original name he had been given in Italy. Speaking of Italy, it had been a few months since the two had spoken face to face and he missed the English agent. Hopefully, Alfred could convince him to stay for a while. Or at least to return for a vacation of some sort once he had completed his mission.

Actually, the mission must have been dangerous and treacherous. After all, the location, Alfred thought, had probably been chosen because of the presence of benches which sat back to back. This meant that one agent could sit one side and the other could sit behind them – neither would see each other and so they wouldn't be compromised. All they had to do was recite the code they had been given. Maybe sit for a few minutes before they both left so as not to arouse suspicion. Simple, really.

Well. Only if no-one decided to attack because Alfred was in a suit and very obviously waiting for _something_. Honestly, he had told his supervisors that it would be better if he wore one of his old scabby hoodies – or any old scabby hoodie – but, no. They had to be seen as 'professional'. MI6 already knew exactly how professional Alfred was, though, he had argued.

Which was not really all that much at all.

And _he_ knew especially. Rolling his eyes, Alfred returned his attention to his phone, concentrating on his Plants vs Zombies game he was in the middle of playing. The phone with the earphone attached was a way to stop people from thinking that Alfred was either talking to thin air or talking to the man behind him. Alfred, unfortunately, was not good at talking without moving his lips. A ventriloquist, he was not.

"Bored, are we?" asked a man's voice, right in Alfred's ear. Jumping, Alfred almost swivelled around in his seat. But he refrained from doing so: he recognised that voice and he doubted the MI6 agent would appreciate it.

"Artie," said Alfred, cheerfully. "I've missed you."

"Idiot!" hissed the English voice. "Don't use my name."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry."

There was a sigh and Alfred could almost see those green eyes rolling to the sky in exasperation. "Anyway, nice weather we're having."

This time, it was Alfred who sighed. "Oh, come on. We both know-"

"_Alfred_!"

"Sheesh. 'Better than in Britain, yeah?'"

"'_Yes_'," Arthur stressed.

"Look, I've said it. Let's talk about something else." Alfred grinned just as a couple of women jogged by. They giggled, staring back at him. Blushing slightly, the young agent glanced away and waited for Arthur to say _something_.

"What do you want to talk about?" Arthur sounded a little reluctant to speak about anything. But Alfred knew that was because he was a good agent and liked to do things properly. Well, until people started getting killed and then he'd see red.

"Well..." Alfred wanted to ask Arthur about next week but he knew that would just chase Arthur away immediately. He didn't want Arthur to leave. Searching for another subject, the question was out before he could stop himself. "Heard anything more about Ivan?"

There was a silence. Alfred wanted to apologise and assure Arthur he didn't have to answer. But the Brit spoke before he could do anything, his tone strained. "No. Nothing. He's gone to ground. Most of the people he bullied into helping him are gone..." At that, he trailed off. Alfred knew he was thinking of Natalya.

"That probably means he'll be back at some point," said Alfred, trying to steer the conversation into happier waters.

"Indeed."

They descended into a heavy silence. Alfred knew that Arthur had warring emotions at the moment and so let him be for a moment. He had killed Natalya after she had killed Arthur's partner, Andrei, on Ivan's orders. It wouldn't have mattered so much had Arthur not been more than a partner to Andrei. He was probably thinking of his relationship with Alfred, too, and how badly that could end. Especially since Ivan knew of Alfred's existence.

"Anyways," said Alfred, deciding to bridge the gap that had stretched between them, "what're you doing next week?"

"Work," came the answer. "Why?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

A pause in which Arthur sighed again. "I told you already, Jones. We can't."

"But-"

"No, Alfred. I don't- I can't- Not again." Alfred heard cloth rustling and realised that Arthur was moving, shifting on his bench.

"It's only a date!" protested Alfred, frowning now. "It's not as if I'm pledging my life to you. And I ain't gonna die on you, either."

After a few seconds of silence, there was another sigh from Arthur. "Farewell, Alfred."

"Wait!" cried Alfred and spun around to look at Arthur. There was no-one there, just a few people walking to and fro on the path beyond. He couldn't see that familiar head anywhere. Glancing down, he noted that the case with those required files had gone. He cursed and turned around, folding his arms with a pout. Arthur was way too good at his job.

* * *

On Valentine's Day, Alfred woke alone and rather miserable in his apartment. There was no Arthur around and his hopes had been dashed the last time he had seen him. Or, rather, spoken with him, as the MI6 agent had appeared and disappeared without a trace. (Alfred had actually been tailed by his supervisors and, even with their numerous surveillance technologies, they hadn't seen him come and go either.)

There were no missions demanding his attention and no paperwork so he had the day to himself. Therefore, it was late in the morning when Alfred found it, having decided to see if he had any mail. He had grabbed the pile from his box and trudged upstairs where he had ice cream and a good few romantic comedies he could watch while drowning his sorrows in the sweet creaminess. Once he had set up a DVD, brought the giant tub through with him and plopped down, he flipped through the letters. Bill, bill, junk, junk, something else, junk, junk-

Alfred blinked and flicked back to a small white envelope that was addressed to him with merely a typed '_Alfred_'. Stunned, Alfred pulled it from the pile and checked the rest of the envelope for any other clues. There was nothing.

"Hm," said Alfred and stuck his spoon in the still frozen snack. He flipped the intriguing letter to the back, wondering if he should open it. Could there be some sort of poison in it? Would it explode? Catch fire? Kill him with some sort of complicated sonic wave? His curiosity was piqued, though, and he dug his fingers into the flap and pulled it open.

Nothing happened bar a single sheet of paper fluttering out and into Alfred's lap. He picked it up and looked at the slanted, neat writing. _Grand Central Terminal, Luggage Storage._ Flipping it over to look on the other side, he found a locker number and a combination. There was no signature nor an explanation.

Wondering what this could possibly be about, Alfred scooped a little ice cream out and ate it. There was only one way to find out, really. So, after putting away the ice cream and shoving on his Nikes, he pulled open his front door and left.

* * *

The building was mostly empty when he finally wandered in, having stopped off at a hot dog stand. A few people were dropping off luggage or picking it up, chattering about adventure to be had and trips long done. Alfred wound his way through them until he found locker 23. Without further ado, he began to fiddle with the lock. A click indicated it had worked and he pulled the locker open.

He had to gape at the contents.

A small teddy bear sat there, smiling serenely up at Alfred. It was dressed in a blue, sailor suit, its hat lopsided atop its head. In its hands – or paws – someone had glued a small, heart-shaped card. And, in case anyone didn't know who this was intended for, the familiar handwriting spelled _Alfred_ once more.

After he had inspected the interior of the locker in case it was rigged, Alfred pulled the bear from its place. Hesitantly, he opened the card. He wasn't sure what he was expecting: instructions for a super secret mission? A threat from Braginski? But he certainly did not expect what was written there.

_Keep the bear. But you need to go to Beyond Bespoke. Tell them your name. Everything else has been taken care of._

Staring at the message, it took a long time to sink in. Someone wanted to give him a suit? Or something tailored, anyway. The only person he could think of who would be this secretive and go to this much effort to get him in a suit was Arthur. Grinning, Alfred clutched the bear to his chest. Arthur was giving him gifts for Valentine's and it made him feel energised and ready for anything.

Off he went, stopping off at his apartment to drop off the little bear. Then he made his way to the tailor. When he gave his name, the woman behind the desk cooed and ushered him through. The man handed him a dark blue suit which looked amazing, the buttons shining brightly. Insisting that he tried it on, Alfred had to endure a few minutes of activity as the tailor made adjustments. He was asked to return in hour to pick it up and made his way to the door.

"Wait!" cried the woman he had spoken to earlier. Obediently, he changed direction and walked over to her. "I have something else to give you. He was so polite when he asked me."

"Oh?" asked Alfred, leaning on the desk. He grinned up at the woman and she giggled softly. "What do I get?"

"This," the woman said and produced a white card with a pressed rose attached. It was so simple and breathtakingly beautiful that Alfred blushed which just served to give the employee something else to giggle about. Nevertheless, he thanked her and went out into the crisp, late morning air. Standing out of the way of the many couples passing by, Alfred opened the card to read what was inside.

_I suggest heading to Magnolia Bakery. They have something for you which you can eat in Bryant Park while you wait._

Alfred was impressed with this organisation. Clearly, Arthur had been in the city for a few days. He wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed that he hadn't seen him and that Arthur was not around to give all these presents to Alfred himself. However, he was excited to see what Arthur had gotten him from the bakery so off he went, keeping hold of the card, whistling as he went. Actually, he was pretty sure that tune was 'Whistle While You Work'. He stopped when a family walked by, a little girl giggling when she heard the tune.

Upon entering the small shop, he found that they were rather busy and he felt sorry for them. After all, here they were, working, while everyone else was with their loved ones. He hoped these employees were being paid well and that they'd have a nice romantic evening waiting for them later.

"Hi," he told the harried girl behind the counter when he reached the front of the queue. "I've to pick something up. I'm Alfred F. Jones."

"Oh, right," she said. "Wait just a minute." And, with that, her ponytail whipped out of sight as she hurried to the back. Moments later, she returned with a box upon which a note had been taped. "There you are, sir. I hope you enjoy them." And, with that, apparently Alfred was dismissed. He dodged around the queue and glanced down at the box.

A different hand had written: _Go to the park __before__ you eat these._ Alfred wondered if Arthur had told them to put this on the box.

In the park, he found a bench which was back to back with another and placed the box beside him. Should he open it? Or wait to see if Arthur would turn up? His stomach rumbled and that decided the matter. Placing it on his lap, he slowly opened the box and gazed inside.

There were four little cupcakes within it, each with a different note. Filling the rest of the space were several heart-shaped cookies coated with brightly coloured sugar so each one was either red, pink or white. He gaped at the goodies and picked up a cookie to munch as he read his way through the notes. _I still fall for you everyday,_ said one which Alfred felt was something which had been mass-produced by the company. The next one, however, made Alfred's heart swell even as he frowned down at it. _You made me whole again._ After that, there was, _I love you more than life_. That was more worrying and Alfred felt he would have to have serious talks with Arthur. Once he had discovered his encrypted phone's number again, at least – as far as he knew, Arthur discarded them after Alfred called to say hello (after many days of hacking).

The last had a much more satisfactory message. _Head to MarieBelle. Don't forget the suit._ That was all but Alfred realised that it would be a similar story to the other stops on his trip. He grinned, looking forward to the chocolate.

So Alfred ate his way through the box and, once he was finished, returned to the tailor's. He picked up the suit and slipped the card into the bag they had given him to keep it safe. Getting on the subway cut his journey time in half and he was soon walking into the shop, breathing deeply. The smell of chocolate was divine and he knew that, had he gotten this wrong and this was all an elaborate trap, he would die somewhat happy.

"Hello," he told the man behind the counter. The employee raised an eyebrow, taking the opportunity to push up his falling glasses. Then he glanced around the store as if to prove that there was no room for him since, as Alfred followed his gaze, he could see that all but one (which was reserved and hidden in a corner) were occupied. Alfred ploughed on, regardless: "I'm Alfred F. Jones."

"Oh!" he said, let me take you to your table." And, with that, Alfred was shown to the reserved table. The man took away the sign. "Your gifts will be with you shortly. He said that you might want to eat some before you took everything away with you so he booked you a table."

"Right," said Alfred, nodding along with this. Arthur was so organised it was a little scary.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

"Ah, a Coke, would be good."

"Right away."

They were quick to give him his presents. One was a pink box within which was a beautiful chocolate cake with a Cupid on it. The other box was blue and, when he opened it, he discovered several chocolates nestled within. There was also a screen which began to play immediately.

Arthur sat in a white room, gazing into the camera. He seemed to be waiting for something – perhaps he knew Alfred would be too shocked to listen. Indeed, Alfred stared, taking in those peridot eyes, those prominent eyebrows, the lovely and strikingly messy hair. Then Arthur opened his mouth and Alfred was all ears.

"Good afternoon, Alfred," said the recording. "I hope you've been having a good day so far. Although I still stand by what I said before, that we cannot be together, you deserve this after all your help with Ivan and protecting my cousin. As it is... Go to the Gotham Bar and Grill. I'm sure you know where that is. Be there for seven and no later. I will not wait."

Alfred's heart leapt. Arthur was going to be there? A grin stretched his muscles and he bounced impatiently.

"Incidentally," continued the recording. "This message will self-destruct in five-"

"What?" said Alfred, eyes wide and jaw dropping.

"-three-"

"No, wait!" cried Alfred and threw himself from his chair as the countdown reached zero. Several of the other patrons stared at him as he lay on the ground, his arms covering his face. Nothing happened, though, and, when he managed to climb back onto his chair, he found a laughing Arthur on the screen.

"I wish I was there to see your reaction. I am sure it will be _splendid_." And, with that, the recording stopped.

Folding his arms, Alfred glared at the box. "Stupid Limey, making me look like an idiot," he grumbled. He soon brightened, however, when the waiter came over with a plate and a knife for him to cut a piece of cake. That and the thought that Arthur was in town perked Alfred up as he waited for the appointed hour.

* * *

Alfred reached the place at one minute past seven, his new suit fitting him snugly. He adjusted his glasses as he entered and gave his name. Once again, he was led to a small table nestled against the long mirror on the wall. A pristine white tablecloth was draped over it and a couple of pink roses had been placed in a slim, cream vase. Seated at the table, wearing a black suit and tie, his white shirt matching the tablecloth, was Arthur who watched him as he approached. The MI6 agent was smiling a little, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Handing him the bouquet of roses he had in his arms, Alfred sat opposite him with a grin. "Since you've been showering me with gifts," he told Arthur.

"Thank you," said Arthur, laying them to the side. "You're too kind: you needn't have got me anything, dear. Though, I suppose this makes up for you being late."

"Hey!" cried Alfred as he was handed a small menu. "I wasn't late!"

"One minute late costs you a minute of my time," said Arthur. He gestured to the laminated menu and explained Alfred's silent question. "I asked for the Valentine's Dinner menu."

"Ah, I see," said Alfred, skimming over the options. "Looks good – I've never been in here before."

"Really? I would have thought that this would be right up your alley, what with the title."

"Oh, c'mon, Artie. This is hardly anything like Gotham. Besides, I never had the money for places like this before I joined the CIA – and now I don't have the time."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, peering at him from over the top of his menu. "You have the time now," he pointed out.

"Yeah," said Alfred, laying down the single sheet. "'Cause I took time off to mope for my disastrous love life."

"You weren't saying that a few months ago."

"I didn't expect my lover-boyfriend-thing to refuse to do anything and then leave me a treasure trail," said Alfred, leaning towards him. "And I didn't expect to be told off for being late."

"Well, you _do_ have a time limit."

"_What?!_" Alfred couldn't believe this. He'd finally managed to see his boyfriend/lover/partner/thing and he only had a limited amount of time with him? This was the worst date ever...

"Yes," said Arthur, drawing something out of his jacket pocket. He turned it so that Alfred could see a small digital clock. It was counting down and was currently at eleven hours, forty-eight minutes and twenty seconds. "When the alarm goes off, I must go back to work."

Alfred perked up. They could do a lot in almost twelve hours. "Then I'm sorry for being so late," said Alfred. He looked around for a waiter and, spotting one, lifted his hand to catch his attention. "But let's not waste any more time – right?" They grinned at each other and Alfred decided that this was definitely his favourite present of the whole day.

* * *

_**Yeah, so... This was supposed to be more kick-ass with clues and having to solve them in a time limit - and then I realised that Arthur would just leave notes saying go here, do this, come see me here. Oh, well.  
**_

_**I chose Albuquerque (which I can't spell without an aid) for the initial scene because I went on Google maps and zoomed in on the US once and you can see a few of the cities and I opted for this one. I have no idea if there are parks there but there totally is now. And those benches.**_

_**I kind of just Googled to find places in NYC - but they are all real and the bakery and chocolate place actually are doing those things for Valentine's this year. (And how could I resist the recording in the box - perfect for spies, right?) The reason I had to Google was because I had no idea where else to send him after the tailors so I had to figure out sweet things to do. Literally, as it turned out.**_

_**The reason it's set in NYC is because I thought of Grand Central Station when trying to figure out where the storage locker would be. I don't know why... But, yeah, when I actually looked it up, I had it in my head that's where it was gonna happen. Luckily, there really is a storage place on Times Square. What do you know.**_

_**I'm sure you can guess what they did in Alfred's flat after their dinner. (Oh, yeah - I think I Googled "romantic restaurants in NYC" or something and found a list of 'em. That went on and on. But I spotted that and went, yup, that'll do.)**_


End file.
